


Regrets

by MagicRobot



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicRobot/pseuds/MagicRobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and he had won, but why does it not feel that way? Post-Cold War</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

They were supposed to be getting along now, at least that’s what their bosses told them. Reagan and Gorbachev were in the next room, talking as civilly as any two leaders could, and they were supposed to be getting along now.

The war was over, but it didn’t feel like it was.

America took a sip of his coffee, the bitter substance washing over his tongue, and spreading warmth throughout his body. He took no notice of this, instead his entire focus was on Russia, who sat with a pensive look on his face, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a haggard frown. The political situation within the Soviet Union had not been kind to the old nation and it showed. America took no shame in delighting in this fact.

He sipped at his coffee some more, watching Russia. Old, tired Russia. In a way, America greatly admired him. It was hard not to. Russia had been through conquerors and empires and hardship that America could never even imagine going through. He was mad because of it, that was something that even Russia himself could admit to, but there was a deep rooted respect there that America could not deny.

His coffee was nearly gone, but he didn’t feel like reaching for more. Instead, he placed his cup to the side and rested his hands against the table, curling them around each other. Russia’s cup lay completely full next to him, most likely cold by now. 

America frowned. He didn’t want to be friends with Russia, perhaps allies, but never friends. There was too much history - too much distrust - between them. America had no interest in being friends with a communist, even if Russia was basically a capitalist by now. He would always be communist in America’s mind, and so there would never be an opportunity for them to be friends.

However, he supposed there was no harm in playing nice. 

He opened his mouth, prepared to extend the proverbial olive branch, when the soft, lilting voice of the other male echoed from across the table.

"Congratulations." The words were said with such listlessness that America almost thought they were sarcastic, but he doubted Russia even knew what sarcasm was. He blinked, caught off guard by such a simple word - one that could imply almost anything, but nothing that America could really put his finger on. It was the first thing that Russia had said to him since entering the room, and America paused, waiting for some elaboration.

A rueful smile made its way to Russia’s face, his head finally moving so that his eyes met America’s. The younger nation was momentarily unnerved by the look in those violet eyes, so haunted and sad that America almost pitied him. America stared at him, equal parts puzzled and disturbed. Russia laughed hollowly.

"I am surprised you are not gloating right now. Such is your nature, yes?" He shook his head, reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve a plain looking silver flask. He took a long swig from it, carefully stowing it back into the folds of his coat one he was finished. He wiped the remaining substance from his lips, heaving a heavy sigh. "You have won, my friend."

Ah yes, he supposed he had. The papers back home certainly said that he had. Won what, he wasn’t exactly sure. He certainly didn’t feel like he had won anything. He felt dirty and unclean; different than how he had felt after any of the Great Wars. Was he supposed to be proud? A part of him was - a part purely fueled by patriotism and nationalism was ecstatic. But was this a war worth winning?

America didn’t voice any of his opinions. Instead, he nodded, encouraging Russia to continue.

Russia gave him a long, hard, calculating look. “Capitalism has conquered over communism. The day has finally come and you sit here so quiet. Why?”

"Would you rather I sit here bragging the entire time?"

Russia gave a great, barking laugh. “It would certainly make this a lot easier to deal with. My family all wish to leave me, and yet yours is just beginning. Are you not happy?”

Was he? Good question. He was, in a way. He was happy that neither of them ever decided to go nuclear. He was happy that the most powerful communist nation in the word was finally taken down a peg or two. He was happy that he was stable, safe, and more than worthy of the term “super-power.” He was happy, and yet he wasn’t.

Russia stood slowly from his seat, the motion startling America, who motioned to stand. Russia held his hands out in a placating gesture, to which America relaxed only slightly, his eyes still watching Russia warily. The big nation stretched, shifted his coat, and walked around the table until he stood next to America.

"Do you regret, comrade?" Here, America forced himself to swallow his growl at the term. "I know I do. There is no shame in regret. Terrible things have happened, they will always happen. It is part of being a nation. You are young still, you will learn." 

America stared thoughtfully at the other nation, to which the other gave a sad smile. He watched as Russia turned toward the door, excusing himself politely to the security at the door.

Yes, him and Russia could never be friends. But the war was over, and he was the victor, and perhaps they had the beginning of an understanding.


End file.
